Legacy of Sorrow
by NoxArkana
Summary: Raziel had never seen anything like it. Nothing like this desolate land whose only feature was that dark, ominous labyrinth, battered by the winds as thunder roared in the distance. And at the centre of that neverending maze, lay the nest of the fire Raziel had been looking for, its core burning with a hatred born from smouldering coals and grown into heaving, infernal flames.
1. Chapter One

Chapter One

 _For our sovereign  
All Hell will arise_

. . .

The first time Azrael saw her, it was through a veil of dark blood covering his eyes and most of his body. He lay on the ground, clutching at consciousness with what strenght he had, head in the grass and screams trapped in his broken chest, pleas for the others to _flee_ slipping in whispers past his lips.  
The first time Azrael saw her, she fought like a demon of the night, tearing and biting and slashing with armored claws. The clash of her talons against the Reaver blade was deafening, even then, when all sounds had seemed so far away and alien.  
The first time Azrael saw her, she saved his life and those of three hundred other vampires.  
The first time Azrael saw her, he cursed Rahab and Zephon and Melchiah and thanked them with all the strenght remaining in his tired muscles, knowing that the three Kainite vampires had saved his Lord's clan and had condemned them all to death.  
«What to do with you all, hmm?»  
Azrael didn't have the strenght to answer. He shifted his gaze to his brethen, pleadingly asking for someone to take over his leader position for a little while -only until he didn't feel so certain he was about to die, only until his flesh had knitted itself together somewhat. He coughed up blood and felt soft hands lifting his head and silently begged for it not to be Nerissa Graves, begged she wasn't about to bash his head against the ground, blood and brain matter spurting from his cracked skull.  
But it wasn't her, and with what voice he still had he begged for forgiveness.

Now, Azrael grimaced when he saw the children.  
A boy and a girl, well-fed, clean, in a warm house.  
This family had risen from poverty to luxury in a matter of months, and it was evident in the opulence of the place they lived in -full of useless pretty trinkets that no nobleman would have ever bought if he were one to keep an eye on his riches. The stench of expensive perfume wafting from their mother's skin was pungent, unpleasant and too strong for Azrael's vampiric sense of smell. His Lady herself had grimaced at the smell of it when she'd entered the house, welcomed in the town by screams of both terror and adoration. She'd grinned -her trademark sharp-toothed grin- at the attention, but her eyes had never lost their steely spark.  
Now, here they were, waiting for her to be done with her games. Azrael was both amazed and terrified at how similar she and Kain were at times. Like a cat with her prey, she liked to toy with her victims before finishing them off, and this instance was no exception. This man had erred -an unforgivable mistake, Azrael will admit that much- and as his Lady had promised, there now was hell to pay. It was only a matter of time, and they all knew it -had known since she'd summoned them that morning, that fucking _grin_ plastered to her face, her eyes burning with a fire that had long since gone out of control.  
This human knew that too. Azrael numbly asked himself how could he condemn his whole family to death so easily, and to such a horrible death too. He could almost smell the stench of burning flesh beneath that of their blood.  
«Really, Damian» his Lady was saying, rummaging in a cupboard, glass tinkling, «I can't see where you went wrong. We paid well -I can't imagine another, much less a human, would have paid you as much as half of what I was giving you.»  
The father of the children was crying. Fat transparent tears were streaming down his ashen cheeks, mixing with the blood from the crushed flesh of his broken cheekbone. His wife was sitting beside him, wailing, her cries undoubtedly hurting his Lady's sensitive head. Azrael was tempted to demand her to shut up, but he knew that would only make her cry harder.  
«Humans and their greed» his Queen breathed, finally finding what she was looking for. She uncorked the bottle, sniffing the contents. The smell of alcohol filled the room and the other vampires' nostrils. «You could have never imagined you'd get your hands on such a fortune, but you wanted more, didn't you? Always more, more, _more_.»  
She delicately placed the bottle on the table along with a glass goblet. The man's eyes followed her movements as broken hiccups escaped him, his gag drenched with tears, snot and saliva.  
«I'm disappointed, Damian» she informed him, and Azrael watched in silence as she opened a shallow cut on the boy's throat. She held the goblet to the bleeding wound, ignoring the child's muffled, terrified sobs and the uncomprehensible pleas of the mother. She filled the goblet midway, closing the wound with a flickering flame when she was done. The boy shrieked in the gag and Azrael feared the worst for a moment, but his Lady ignored him.  
Returning to the bottle, she poured the wine into the goblet, mixing it with the blood and heating it up with the flame dancing on one fingertip. Her grin showed teeth.  
«I want to know the reason why» she said serenely.  
She cut the gag around his mouth and the man started pleading almost immediately. His incoherent babbling made Azrael's Queen grimace -but whether in pain or annoyance, the vampire couldn't tell. Pain, most likely. Azrael supposed she was suffering from a nasty hangover after the previous night. He almost sighed, his leathery wings drooping slightly.  
« _Hush_ » his Lady hissed, raising an armored hand. The man immediately fell silent, his hiccups and sobs ringing in the relatively silent room. «I asked for _reasons_ , you dumb shit, not _pleas_. Who convinced you to do this? Or was it your own idea? One of my own fucking died thanks to your little game.»  
«M-m-my L-l-l-lady I-I w-was f-f-forced to d-d-do it, I t-t-old them I d-d-didn't want to, I'm s-s-sorry, _have me-mercy_ -»  
«Don't lie to me, Damian -you stink enough already. I should have expected it, I guess, hmm? Such _glory_ it would have brought you, being the one to kill me off. What would you have done with my carcass, Damian? Would you have torn my heart out to gloat about your victory? Would you have nailed my wings on your door?»  
The man wailed pitifully, making Azrael sigh with a shake of his raven head. His Lady glanced at him, a smirk stretching her lilac lips.  
«Say, Damian, what about a _deal_?» she asked, grin ever spreading. She took a sip from the goblet. «A _game_. It's fun. You _inspired_ me.»  
Her burning gaze trailed to the two sobbing children. Now her grin was showing teeth and Azrael let his eyes fall closed in momentary grief.  
«Azrael, if you please?»  
It was an order, of course, and Azrael stepped forward, standing behind the children. The young humans only cried harder, and the vampire thought about the sting their tears would cause on his skin.  
«My Lady» he muttered in his gravelly voice. She smirked at him.  
«Come on, Damian. Choose.»  
The man's sobs abruptly stopped. He turned wide brown eyes on Azrael's Mistress, scared and yet somewhat incredulous at what she was asking of him.  
« _P-p-p-lease_ » he babbled, pleas falling from his lips like an unstoppable river. « _M-m-my Lady, h-have m-mercy_...»  
« _Daaamiannn_.»  
His name was sing-songed in a way that made Azrael lower his head. The blond and chestnut hair of the children came into his view and he closed his eyes for another long moment.  
The debate lasted as long as Azrael was expecting it to, but luckily both his Lady and her vampires had time. It allowed him time to think -something that he didn't know whether it was good or bad. It let him think about the past three hundred and thirty-two years, about the first day his gaze landed on the sharp-toothed grin of Nerissa Graves. About the years, centuries before her, when he was still part of the Razielim clan and his Lord seemed to be the invincible god, while Kain was only a distant ideal lost somewhere in the fog of his Turning. The day his Lord Raziel had been struck down, wings torn from a back that -Azrael knew- was perfect in every detail, not a flaw to be found on that creamy skin. The day he'd slaughtered a group of Turelim vampires, so wanton for his head, and had come back to his clan bearing earth-shattering news.  
Those days still came back in his nightmares sometimes. They especially had a tendency to return after days when he'd seen his Mistress show her trademark grin -cruel, sharp-toothed and way too white, the smile of a vampire that has long since gone insane. The sight of that smile always made him shudder with how similar to Kain's it was.  
She didn't need to give shape to her cruelty, her ruthlessness being evident enough in her armored gauntlets. She was Nosgoth's Left Hand of God, unforgiving and unpredictable, capable of burning cities to the finest ashes and of picking children from the streets to give them a future. Azrael could never predict how Nerissa Graves would react to his presence and what he had to say, even if he was her General, her own way of showing off her power. He was the shape and face people had given to her cruelty, even if he was not the one to burn entire cities to the ground.  
The man's response wasn't surprising at all.  
«The girl. The girl» Damian sobbed, unable to look his wife or his children in the eyes, Nerissa's laughter bursting forth and ringing in the air over the woman's cries and moans and the children's shrieks.  
«Azrael.»  
His talons pierced the boy's small chest as if it were made of butter, the child's breath stuttering as his lungs filled with blood. Red liquid oozed from his mouth, spewing from his nose, air gurgling into his small throat. He convulsed a couple times before his eyes finally rolled back into his skull, body slumping on the table he sat at with his mother screaming wildly, eyes wide and crazed, struggling in her bonds as if they would ever give beneath her human strenght.  
Damian was sobbing, unable to scream as his Lady cut the bonds, his tears flooding his face as he cradled his son's corpse close.  
Nerissa looked bored now.  
 _Have you secured every window and door, Azrael?  
-Yes, my Lady.  
Good. We're done here._  
Azrael bowed deeply, his wings brushing the table, and grabbed the surviving child. He ignored Damian's calls - _no, no, please oh please_ \- and went right out of the door, pulling the screaming and kicking girl with him. His Lady came out shortly after, tossing the bottle of wine to one of the younger vampires she'd brought with.  
She blocked the door by melting its metal hinges, the lock and handle dripping in sizzling silvery drops to the dry brown earth and Damian's screams reaching the pitch where Azrael wondered how his vocal chords hadn't yet ruptured.  
« _Requiescat in pace_ » she said with mock solemnity, before setting fire to the house and all those within with a wide, lazy movement of her hands.  
The fire emerged from her hands with the speed of a striking snake. It latched on the house and tasted it, licking up the walls, slipping into the cracks in the roof, dripping into the rooms and turning them into a roaring inferno in a matter of seconds. The flames reached their scorching fingers high in the sky, turning the night into day as they caressed the stars and the air began to ring with screams. The reds and oranges and yellows of the fire had been carved into Azrael's mind long ago, but he still found beauty in it every time, despite everything.  
He wondered what _that_ made him. A monster like Nerissa? Like _Kain_?  
The little girl in Azrael's grasp screamed as the hellish flames devoured her home and family. She was calling for her mother. Nerissa's eyes flashed as she backhanded her hard across the face.  
«Stupid bitch» she hissed. «Betrayed by your father, and still you cry out for him? Such a disappointment, such a shame, because you were born a fucking woman and not a _male_. Can't you muster the will to _fight_ , girl?»  
The girl cried still, even with a broken jaw and blood pouring from her split lips. Nerissa growled in disgust and Azrael saw the desire to kill in her eyes, but then she turned to the burning house and the screams coming from there and her expression turned peaceful.  
 _Can't have the kid die from bloodloss before she becomes a fine bloodslave_ , Azrael supposed. He didn't pity the girl. She could have been burning alive in the house with her mother and father and dead brother, but she was here instead, whole and not in too much pain, and she would continue to be so at least for ten years more. She would soon forget her human family.  
They all did, in the end.  
Nerissa Graves turned towards the small crowd that had formed out of the house. There were murmurs and shaking of heads, but they all died down when she lifted a hand, the armored fingers still engulfed by undying flames.  
«I trust I do not have to comment on this display» she said, voice casual and dangerous. «You asked for my protection and agreed to my price. I need a new tradesman.»  
There was a good number of willing ones. Nerissa's smile turned pleased.  
They departed from the silent village shortly after, the burning house a warning for all its inhabitants. The humans watched them go in silence, their expressions a mixture of hatred, fear and the kind of devotion that knew no bounds -the devotion of men and women who could see and touch their God, instead of only hearing of Him. Azrael had been used to those expressions all his vampiric life, but never had he seen such different emotions all splayed in one single moment.  
The grin that split his Lady's face told him she had.  
His Lady, yes -his Mistress from the moment she'd defeated Kain and saved them all from his wrath. His Mistress since Rahab and Zephon and Melchiah had found _something_ into the dark pits of their hearts, and had handed them over to the Mad Angel.  
An angel with white wings and dark skin and flames woven into her hair, with a mad grin upon her lips and a tendency to drink too much. An angel without a halo who'd fallen upon Nosgoth without the skies breaking and without the earth recoiling from her presence, a sword at her hip and armored gauntlets at her hands, whose only desire was to set fire to the world.  
Her name was Nerissa Graves, and a grave she would be for all those standing in her way.

. . .

Authoress' note:  
I promised a sequel, so here you go!  
ME WRITING CHILD ABUSE DOES NOT MEAN I CONDONE IT IN ANY WAY. Child abuse is wrong, people. I do not justify nor believe everything I write.  
I do not own in any shape or form the characters featured in this story -this also applies to the story's image cover and to the quotes at the beginning of each chapter. I only own my OCs and the story's plot.  
Comments please!  
Have a nice day/night and love Legacy of Kain!


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

 _The fire is currently  
burning out of control._

. . .

Raziel stood pensive as he stared blankly ahead.  
The road was open and empty. Nothing moved on its lenght, which got lost in the horizon of Nosgoth herself, and the blue wraith felt the same nothingness shift in his hollow chest.  
The anguish of the moment when the Reaver had been embedded in his chest had never abandoned him, ignored and shoved to the bottom of his mind, perhaps, but never defeated. Not for the first time, he mourned the loss of the relative simplicity of his life of _before_ -before this hideous body, before his fall, before his wings, _before all this_. The knowledge of what awaited him in the end, as if he were trapped in a huge, ironic circle, weighed him down like a boulder in the empty cavity of his chest. He almost laughed bitterly at the thought. To be devoured by the same sword he'd thought of as a mythical relic for most of his life... it was ironic indeed.  
He started down the wide path with a sense of angry defeat burning in what remained of his heart. _All for nothing,_ he thought bitterly. Not even Vorador -whose mansion he'd left two days ago- had been able to uncover the Reaver's secrets, and the one who could have done so had been murdered by Raziel's own hand. Ironic, this too -bitter, cruel irony seemed to be the only constant of his life.  
His steps sounded light on the ground, though to his own ears, the sound was both hollow and heavy. He'd have gritted his teeth had he still had the chance to do so, but alas, his upper jaw only grazed the coarse fabric of the once-red cloth he wore on his face, as he attempted to move muscles that were no longer there. That was one of the things that grated on Raziel's nerves the most. He'd never realized just how much he relied on facial expressions until they'd been taken from him.  
He scowled at his own thoughts. Ever since the Reaver had attempted to consume him, his thirst for vengeance and boiling anger had somewhat died down, turning him towards feelings he'd _never_ allowed himself to feel before: defeat, resignation, dark sadness. Perhaps, he reflected as he walked, the overall success of his life (both the first and the second one) had kept him from ever truly feeling what most of his enemies had felt as they fell beneath his armies -feeling as he wouldn't make it, as if there was nothing more to fight for. The harsh reality was that, even if he did manage to revive Janos Audron, the entity  
 _(it's me it's always been me)_  
dwelling in the Reaver would still be there, waiting, prowling like a caged predator in the back of his mind. As much as Raziel always summoned the Mind Guards to drag that thought away in chains, it always managed to escape again and come back to grin into his face.  
The wraith hated it. Hated that he couldn't fight his own mind, exactly as he couldn't fight the Raziel waiting in the wretched sword. Yet another invisible enemy, and one he couldn't face unless he destroyed himself, and that was decidedly _not happening_ , thank you very much. As much as he hated this body with a passion, he was quite attached to the life it allowed him to live.  
 _Wretched as it is._  
With a snort, he quickened his pace. He still didn't have a real destination to reach, most of his plan building in his head as he walked, but running had always helped him clear his mind, and now was no exception. The landscape flew around him at vampiric speed, trees, clearing and even a stream passing by without Raziel really noticing. A few animals froze and cowered as he passed, but then returned to their previous occupations once he disappeared. Raziel didn't fear getting lost, so he didn't bother looking where he was going. He'd reach _somewhere_ and then he'd worry about it.  
So, yes, Raziel ran. He thought. He took some time to stop worrying and just mourn for what he'd once had. He felt stupid doing so consciously, seeing as his time as Kain's right hand man had mostly brought foul memories with, but then he'd remember the times when he'd sit with his brothers. The tales they'd tell and the laughter they ensued, the way their eyes looked when they glanced at each other. He remembered the way everyone kept considering Melchiah the little brother who needed protection, and how they'd tease Rahab for his passion for books and not women. _Janos would have liked them_ , Raziel thought suddenly, and wondered about the way things could have been had the Ancient been alive to get to know them. Rahab would have been his favourite, no doubt.  
His feet and musings had brought him far from Termogent Forest, longer a distance than what he'd expected to cover in one day. The clouds covered the now twilight sky, promising a rain that was fortunately no longer acidic to him. Raziel could have kept going the whole night, if he so wished, but he decided against it -if he chose to go to Avernus later, he didn't want to be too far and have to double his efforts when there was no reason to do so. Besides, a night's sleep would probably help him make a decision about what he wanted to do with his life. He only had to find a decent spot where to curl up and close his eyes without Moebius' soldiers tracking him down.  
Raziel had nothing but the cowl on his face to his name, so he didn't have a map, but during his struggle to find the ancient Vorador in his home, he'd come across several of them. The old vampire had even had a tapestry with Nosgoth's wasteland woven in it, and had pointed out the human settlements he controlled -admittedly numerous, Raziel's warlord side clapping and nodding in admiration as he simultaneously smirked at such a self-celebrating show. Vorador could allow himself his hedonistic quirks, he thought.  
Among the various small emerald pins, Raziel remembered there being a particular village Vorador had marked. It had been north from the vampire's home, and if his senses weren't deceiving him, Raziel believed he wasn't far from it. Still, he filed away the need to get a map of Nosgoth as soon as possible. He could get one in the village and stick it between his naked ribs, he supposed.  
Or he could get a bag. That was alright too.  
He snickered to himself -for no reason, really- and started down his path once more.

So here it was, and wasn't this little Dellmeadow town something to be admired. These folks had to be brave indeed, to deal with someone like Vorador on something like a weekly or monthly basis and not get killed. Still, as the old cranky bastard had once pointed out, Raziel _did_ look more like a demon than a vampire -these people, however used to the presence of the undead, would not cooperate with him unless he spilled blood. Well. Their loss and his gain -he was still good at spilling blood.  
His cheeks -what remained of them, anyway- lifted in the grotesque imitation of a grin. He discreetly walked into the town, slipping into the shadows of late evening.  
Not many lights were on inside the houses, most humans having already gone to sleep. Raziel could hear the wailing cries of an infant, somewhere in the distance of the dark alleys, and in the small church the torches burned still.  
The wraith walked soundlessly towards the decorated building, intent on finding a niche or something where to sleep in peace. He knew humans still believed they'd be safe in a sacred edifice, believed that vampires, unholy as they were, could not step into a church without burning to ash. The thought ripped a snicker from Raziel's inexistent throat as he walked inside.  
The burning torches illuminated everything. The altar, the decorated columns, the crucifixes -and weren't those peculiar, Raziel thought, observing the way the wood had been carved: the cross looked as if it was made out of golden feathers. But what caught his eye the most were the engraved depictions and the stained glass windows.  
He remembered the way the humans had painted Janos in the Sarafan fortress, and the images he found here, though similar, couldn't have been more different. Oh, some things were the same -the ugliness of the monster, for example- but the _meaning..._  
The bat-like creature grinning from the glass had blue skin, sharp teeth and white wings. She was engulfed by roaring flames and a dark red halo surrounded her head. She sat on a throne of skulls and charred flesh, a child in her lap and another winged figure standing at her side, hands clasped behind his back and eyes gleaming golden. Raziel was shocked at how similar to himself the second figure was -when he'd still been a vampire, that is, handsome, fair-skinned and helplessly arrogant. The child in the woman's lap looked terrified, and soon Raziel found out the reason why in the red holes on the side of his neck.  
 _A child-eating beast, then,_ Raziel thought, not at all surprised by the emptiness of human imagination. He took a step forward and saw that, beneath the main, larger window, there were three smaller ones with three different scenes. The same woman of the throne casting a spell that evoked hellish flames, burning a small clutter of houses to ash, was the scene in the centre. It was connected to the other two by the enormous structure of her wings: on the left, the winged man was offering a young girl for her to bite and, on the right, whole cities kneeled with outstretched arms as one of her immense white wings extended, covering them like a deathly dome. The faces of those people weren't scared, though -no, they looked almost relieved, happy even, and Raziel suddenly realized they were offering their wrists as her wing shielded them from the blood-red rain falling from the clouded sky.  
The young priest found Raziel like that, staring with his wide blank eyes at those depicted scenes. The remains of his face showed shock and dismay, but he still was attentive enough to hear the young man as he entered the room.  
The human didn't resist Raziel's attack as the vampire shoved him roughly against a wall, a taloned hand pressed on his mouth hard enough to leave shallow wounds on the sickly pale cheeks. His cry was muffled by Raziel's palm, his hands pressed to the wall at his back, and to the wraith's utter surprise, he instantly lifted his chin and left his neck bared.  
The skin of his throat was littered with bite marks, ranging from angry purple bruises to faded yellowish stains on the once creamy flesh. The raw wounds bobbed with his harsh breathing, the marks spreading over his spasming breast and collarbones. Raziel was familiar with such a display, for he, too, had helped create them most of his life. He remembered all too well the nights he'd spend with an attractive slave, giving and receiving pleasure as he painted the canvas of their skin in blues and reds.  
«Are you a bloodslave?» he hissed, the boy's eyes going all the wider for it. He frantically shook his head and Raziel growled, low in his hollow throat.  
«What are these marks then, boy?» he snarled. «And speak truthfully -you wouldn't like what I'd do to you otherwise.»  
As he said so, he used his free hand to pull the cowl down. The human's eyes went impossibly wide, a muffled whimper leaving his lips. A pungent stench suddenly invaded the room, a wet patch growing on the front of his pants, and Raziel tsked.  
Once, he would have felt somewhat flattered at such a display of weakness. It meant that the human in front of him _saw_ him, perceived his power, felt his presence. Now, he only felt disgust welling in his nonexistent gut, an exasperated sigh making his chest heave.  
Slowly, he let go of the human's face. The boy shook, but remarkably managed to keep the tremors from showing in his voice.  
«I'm not a bloodslave, m'lord» he said, and Raziel arched what remained of an eyebrow.  
 _My lord?_  
How long had it been since anyone had called him that? Since he'd been more than just _Raziel_?  
But then the boy continued, and his eyes shone with a sick mixture of terror and devotion.  
«These marks you see are the proof of our Mistress' greatness» he said, his hands suddenly raised high above his head. «Our women and children are safe and protected from this wasteland's wrath -our Lady offers us her wings to send our spirits flying. She only asks for sustenance in return, and when I volunteered, I did so gladly.»  
 _Volunteered_...  
A vampire worshipper, then. And the acrid smell of fear was no longer in the air, either. This boy really believed in what he was saying.  
«Your soul wanders, lost and forlorn» the young man said suddenly. Raziel's eyes narrowed, but the boy didn't let the threatening expression stop him. «Our Lady can help you, I'm sure. She will show you the path through the fire and to redemption.»  
Redemption! Hah!  
«I do not search for redemption, boy. The very concept makes me sick» Raziel said calmly. «But I do wish to meet this Lady you speak so highly of. You made me curious, you see.»  
«Curiosity is good, m'lord» the human said, smiling. «Curiosity will make you listen. Curiosity will save your forlorn soul».  
Raziel rolled his white glowing eyes, but didn't contradict him. Now sure the boy wouldn't try to run away screaming, he let him go and stepped back, adjusting his cowl so that it would cover his face once more.  
Although, he did want to meet this human's Mistress, if only for the wings they had painted on their stained glass windows. He remembered all too well the way the Sarafan had painted Janos in their fortress, and though this woman looked more... disturbing, in a way -what with the mad grin on her lips-, Raziel had long since learned to be wary of paintings. He'd thought Janos was the last of the Ancients, he himself had said so, but what if he wasn't and had never known? After all, the ancient vampire had been hardly omniscent. Could it be that two members of his race had escaped the mass suicide and the following slaughter, building their own empire far away in the middle of nowhere?  
 _Undetected? Even by_ Kain _?_  
Difficult, perhaps, but hardly impossible for the Ancients. Raziel was sure of that, because the other options -that Kain had, indeed, known of their existence and left them alone; or that he'd tried and failed to conquer their lands- were simply too absurd to be believable. Kain had never had mercy on _anyone_.  
 _Not even me.  
Oh, stop the pity party, will you?!_  
But it _was_ true, and the knowledge made him try and fail to grit his teeth. A flame of the old anger he'd come to thrive on flared, but it was short-lived.  
 _That_ disturbed Raziel more than he cared to admit.  
 _When you take away hatred and anger from a man that only thrives on them, what does indeed remain, if not an immense void?_  
«Lead me to her» Raziel said, the sound of his voice distracting him from his own thoughts.  
He'd expected protests, but the boy surprised him yet again. His smile widened even further and he nodded, bowing deeply. «I would suggest we wait until morning to leave, though, m'lord. Our Lady is more dangerous at night.»  
«I do not wish to be seen by your fellow villagers.»  
«Then you shall not. I will keep the explanations to a minimum when I'll take the wagon. We receive many lost souls like you, seeking salvation and not wanting to let others see their current unclean state. There will be no questions.»  
Raziel sighed. «Just find me a place where I can sleep, boy.»  
«Certainly, m'lord. Please follow me.»

Hours later, Raziel lay awake in a comfortable bed.  
The boy -who had introduced himself as Rohan- had led him to an elegantly furnished room, not used often but kept very clean. Tall, expensive candles burnt on the silver candelabra scattered on the desk and bedside table, illuminating the many heavy tomes the shelves and the clean parchment and ink waiting on the table. A long, elegant quill waited beside the parchment, the sharp tip gleaming with orange sparks in the candlelight. A large closet stood in the far corner of the room, while a door on the left led to the private bathroom. On a small decorated table with a glass layer on top, next to a beautifully engraved goblet, was a glass carafe filled to the brim with blood. There was even a small metal tripod where one coul put the carafe, and then heat the red liquid up by means of a candle that could be placed beneath it. These people had thought of _everything_ , and Raziel wondered just how many vampires had wandered there -and then what? Had been killed by these people? But no, the bite marks had been authentic. The young priest wasn't a bloodslave, Raziel had seen no marks from a collar or handcuffs, but the wounds littering his neck showed that he might as well have been. Whoever this boy was, whatever this whole village was, they served the vampires as f they were their own version of Janos' Messiah. So what had those undead souls found here?  
Blood and rest, that was what. And the demonic grinning woman. And what had they found in _her_?  
His thoughts went back to the stained glass windows in the church, to the red-orange glow of painted flames. Had those vampires found the 'redemption' the boy had mentioned in the form of scorching heat and charred flesh? Or had they found the solace, the relief they'd been searching for?  
Raziel doubted it, and not just because, since the Abyss, he'd become a hopeless pessimist. He had a bad feeling about the woman, but reconsidering his decision wasn't even an option -it was useless to debate about it, knowing he would be going anyway.  
He left the candles to burn when he lay down. He stared into the flickering flame of the one closest to him, feeling so terribly strange lying on an actual bed, his cowl within reach on the bedside table. The once vampire looked at the shadows playing on the worn fabric for a long time before his lids fell on his glowing eyes.

. . .

Authoress' note:  
I do not own in any shape or form the characters featured in this story -this also applies to the story's image cover and to the quotes at the beginning of each chapter. I only own my OCs and the story's plot.  
Comments please!  
Have a nice day/night and love Legacy of Kain!


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

 _There is no pain so great  
As the memory of joy in present grief._

. . .

« _Just tell me where to GO!_ » Raziel growled. The priest only smiled, in that peaceful way of his that made the wraith want to punch him in the face. He was gathering supplies, clothes, blankets and such, as if he were really thinking he was going with Raziel.  
«Our Lady doesn't like strangers» the boy said placidly. «She'll burn you to a crisp if you go alone. I am your safe conduct.»  
Raziel hissed in annoyance, a hand going up and over his face to pinch his blue nose.  
« _Do you think-_ »  
«Forgive me, my Lord,» -and the little bastard had the nerve to _interrupt_ him- «but I'm not sure you understand just what you are getting into. You saw the windows. Our Lady's throne is made of bones. You do not want to become her sceptre, do you?»  
 _Little shit_ , thought Raziel, unable to believe that a human had actually dared to speak to him thus.  
«You don't want to become my enemy, either. My patience wears thin, boy -just tell me where this ghost town is.»  
«Even if I told you, there would be no way you could cross the Labyrinth on your own. Your sins would find you, maul you, drag your soul straight down to Hell».  
All this religious symbolism was starting to grate on Raziel's nerves and the wraith felt a growl vibrate in his chest, shaking his ribs and all that remained of his throat.  
He slammed the boy against the wall, the impact finally wiping that insolent little smile from the human's face. Rohan's sharp intake of breath was music to the soul-eater's ears, but the fear in his breathing never reached his eyes.  
«Do you entertain suicidal thoughts, filth?» Raziel hissed... and to his utter shock, Rohan sighed, as if he were dealing with a particularly stubborn child.  
«My Lord, please» he said, and his voice was less insolent and a great deal more respectful. Well. At least he wasn't one of those people who fancied getting pinned down and dominated. Not that there was anything wrong with _that_ , but Raziel couldn't have born any more smart remarks. Unlike some, he didn't enjoy _not_ being feared.  
«I know all this must seem absurd to you» Rohan continued, his gaze soft. «But I swear, I speak no lies. My Lady is cruel and rules with an iron fist. If you go alone, you will surely perish. I'm going with you to ensure your own safety.»  
« _Look at me, boy_ » the wraith growled, long ivory fangs only inches from the human's purple neck. «Do I look like a naïve newborn to you? I have seen things that would make your skin crawl and your hair turn white. Do you still think I need _protection_?»  
Rohan was nodding slowly, looking at him with a wistful expression. «I understand why you're speaking this way, my Lord. You appear to have been cruelly tested.»  
A sharp intake of breath and the human was suddenly free again, Raziel taking a step back as if he'd been struck and staring with wide glowing white eyes. Rohan looked at him curiously, but didn't comment.  
«We have an agreement with our Lady» he began explaining. «She protects us and, in return, we provide the blood her whole court need. Whenever a new vampire comes into our town, we welcome them at the best of our abilities and, if they so desire, take them to her. But to make sure her lands stay safe, our Lady surrounded them with the Labyrinth -a maze that extends for hundreds of miles, inhabited by the most hideous beasts on Nosgoth's fair land. They consume both flesh and soul, and they continuously roam the stone corridors to find whom to devour. There are safe routes, a safe section of the Labyrinth that closes its doors to them and safely leads to the centre, where her city lies. We will need the map to cross it and get safely to the other side.»  
«A _map_?»  
This woman must be stupider than he thought. Maps could be stolen. They could fall into the wrong hands. Besides, no vampire in their right mind would ever give such important information to _humans_.  
«Yes, my Lord. Only I have access to it.»  
«And I don't suppose you can give me this map, can you?»  
«Even if I could, I would never betray my Lady's trust. But you see, the map is not a written one, and the safe routes change every day. My Lady will provide me with the knowledge we need once she grants us access -she will put it in my head as if it had always been there.»  
 _Using the Whisper with a human?  
_ As Kain's lieutenant, he'd learnt it was forbidden. Twisted. _Wrong_. A vampire simply didn't behave that way. Humans were too weak, their minds too simple to allow such a bond, and a vampire could never be brought so low as to communicate like that with a mortal. It simply _was not done_.  
«Do you think it's amusing?» Raziel snarled, disgusted enough that his muscles were rippling as if spiders were crawling all over his body.  
«My Lord?» Rohan asked, his foolish confusion only making the wraith angrier.  
«No vampire would ever allow a filthy human to establish a connection with their mind» the blue creature hissed, his rage quickly approaching unadulterated fury. «For you to suggest such a thing... it's one of the worst insults you could have come up with.»  
Rohan paled at Raziel's words, grey eyes going wide and scared. It was the first real fear Raziel saw in him and he reveled in it.  
«My Lord, I did not mean to offend you» the boy stuttered. «But I do not lie, I assure you. Our Lady does this to keep her court safe. This way, since no-one knows how the Labyrinth will change, it is rare that her city gets attacked. Those who attempted either gave up or died in the maze.»  
«Even so, I cannot fathom why a vampire could have sullied themselves with _this_ » Raziel spat, sickened beyond measure. «Your Lady is not worthy of the title you gave her. Whoever she is, she is an outrage, a disgrace -she doesn't deserve the respect accorded to a common _whore_.»  
Rohan gasped sharply at that and shrank back, furiously shaking his head. His eyes were staring at Raziel in shocked silence, his lips a thin line and hands clasped behind his back. The blue wraith could see his bruised throat bob with his swallow.  
«You know not of whom you speak, vampire» he said, smile gone from his voice. «I have no idea where you come from, but rest assured no one here will ignore such insults to our Lady. Our loyalty lies only with her and we will defend her, be it her honour, her wings or her name.»  
That was the kind of boundless devotion Raziel had seen in his own days at the head of Kain's armies. A pang of nostalgia made his non-existent heart ache. He _missed_ those days of golden glory, although he was conscious he'd never go back to them without modifying a few things here and there - _exempli gratia_ , Kain's presence.  
«You have some nerve, boy, I'll give you that» the wraith muttered. «Not many have spoken to me that way and lived.»  
Rohan bowed his head, a small smile beginning to bloom on his lips again. «Killing me would go against your best interests, my Lord.»  
«Tch. Very well. How long will it take for us to reach the citadel?»  
Rohan straightened up, his smile widening a hair. «Three days, my Lord, if the conditions remain optimal, and then another to cross the Labyrinth.»  
Raziel nodded slowly, long clawed fingers drumming on the windowsill. Outside the church, the little town was bustling with activity -farmers carrying supplies for their animals, women with huge baskets full of clothes that needed washing, children guarding geese and other small animals. He was quite visible from the window, but even though some noticed him, no one said a word. They simply went about their day without another glance at him.  
«If it is so disagreeable to you» Rohan said after a long pause, «you could wait here for the next collecting party to arrive and leave with them afterwards. They're all vampires.»  
Raziel turned his eyes towards the young man, though the human didn't notice due to his eyes being completely white. The glowing effect, though present, was less evident now that the sunlight was streaming in through the tall windows.  
Rohan understood the unspoken question easily. «Three weeks, my Lord. The last collection was only two days ago.»  
Raziel had never been a patient man.  
«No. You'll lead me there.»  
The human's smile was so sincere and gleeful that Raziel was struck with a sudden realization -a piece of information the boy had carefully kept from him. He had to take a deep breath to calm hmself and avoid strangling him.  
«Have you ever been there, human?» he asked, despite already knowing the answer.  
Rohan's cheeks flushed red and Raziel raised a non-existent eyebrow at him.  
«Well... I am fairly new, my Lord» the boy confessed, looking away. He looked painfully young in those white monkish robes. «The last intermediary died about one year ago. He poisoned the blood we'd donated and a vampire from our Lady's city fell victim to it. She burnt his house down with his wife and children in it.»  
Ah. So that was why those incinerated ruins still stood -some sort of _memento_ for those who survived, to remind them what happened to those who crossed the winged woman. She kept reminding him of Kain more and more every time Rohan spoke of her. _  
_And what had been Kain's _memento_? Or better still, _who_ had it been?  
Raziel closed his eyes for a moment. He was getting tired of those unbidden thoughts.  
«You seem very eager to enter in a city full of vampires. Most would run for the hills screaming.»  
«They will not hurt me, my Lord. It is forbidden to harm the inhabitants of the towns our Lady protects. It's part of the pact.»  
«And will they respect it? You are still a human -still food.»  
«You didn't try to kill me.»  
But Raziel was no longer a vampire. Rohan didn't know that. His unshakeable trust sounded foolish to the soul-eater, but after all, it was the human's neck.  
«They will respect the pact, my Lord. They will burn if they don't.»  
The wraith had enormous doubts about that. The life of a human, as talented as they may be, wasn't worth that of a vampire. He didn't say so, though, and only nodded with surprising calm.  
«Very well. I wish to depart as soon as possible. If you're coming with me, you better get ready.»

The young priest had been a man of his word. No one had been out when they had left Dellmeadow, and the one who had seen them off -a burly man who had been taller than both Raziel and Rohan- had kept his eyes glued to the ground, _'so as to comply with your request of not being seen, my Lord'_ , as the boy had explained. Raziel had honestly been surprised with the lengths they'd gone to ensure his comfort, their quiet obedience a painful reminder of his time as a Lord of the Razielim Clan.  
Of course, there was always the possibility of this being a trap. Raziel found himself going over that course of events as the boy drove the chariot through Nosgoth's landscapes. The horses had kept calm and tranquil even as they smelt Raziel's by now dead scent. That calm spoke of long habit and Raziel -between a thought and another about whether or not he smelt of cadaver- wondered wheter that woman had her own stables in her city.  
So, what if it _was_ a trap?  
He'd kill the boy, of course, but what after that? How to get into the city if he couldn't cross the Labyrinth? The boy could have lied about that as well, but what if he hadn't?  
But all these questions didn't have an answer, not yet at least, and so it was quite pointless to go over them again and again in his head. He would face every problem as it came up or he would die. That was the ultimate truth of things.  
Rohan was chattering in a quiet, cheerful way that didn't fail to put Raziel in a good mood -or as good a mood as he could possibly be put in. Even though he didn't pay attention, nor did he pretend to, the sound of someone else's voice apart from his own made him feel slightly better.  
«Tell me more about your Lady» he said suddenly, interrupting Rohan mid-sentence. The human didn't seem to mind, happy to have awakened a reaction in the wraith travelling with him.  
«There is a lot to tell, my Lord. What would you like to hear? Fire and blood, or music from her lands?»  
«Both. Who is she?»  
«Oh, she came to be more than two thousand years ago. She was the spouse of the late Janos Audron.»  
Raziel looked up sharply at that. Rohan didn't notice his sudden discomfort, grey eyes focused on the road and words falling effortlessly from his lips.  
«They say she was a human maiden once, many centuries ago, whose beauty could make any man kneel at her feet. She had dozens of suitors who wished to marry her, but she rejected them all, hating their weakness and human nature. She was as beautiful as she was cruel and her thirst for blood drew the ancient Janos Audron to her bed. She seduced him and tricked him into turning her into a vampire, and when he ran out of usefulness, she struck a deal with the Sarafan -she would sing a lullaby to the Ancient so that he fell into a deep sleep, and then opened the passage into his ancient retreat. After the warriors killed Janos Audron, they turned their weapons on her. Blinded by rage, she made the whole Aerie collapse atop their heads, burying them beneath debris forever, and flew away to start her own kingdom.»  
Tragic and beyond cruel, as was the humans' fashion. By now, he doubted she even knew Janos -the Ancient would have told him if he'd had a spouse-  
Would he?  
Would he have, knowing Raziel had come with the Sarafan in tow?  
No. Only a fool would have done so. Besides, Janos had only known him for, how long, half an hour? A whole one at best? Why mention someone so important to someone so insignificant on a personal level, to his own murderer?  
Raziel lowered his head once more, blinking rapidly, hands dangling between his knees. Rohan glanced at him with gentle grey eyes.  
«It's a foolish tale» the wraith breathed. «It wasn't like that.»  
«My Lord?»  
«She didn't draw the Sarafan to Janos' retreat. She wasn't even there when they came.»  
«How do you know this, my Lord?»  
«That's for me to know.»  
Rohan didn't push, although his eyes remained doubtful. He continued his tale without further delay.  
«Once deep into the mountains far north, where the snow is sovereign all year long, she brought her castle up from the rocks deep beneath the surface of Nosgoth. The core of the land is hellishly hot, my Lord, and she used the molten rock to build her home. But as she was doing so, the flames caught her great wings and plunged her into the lake of fire: she emerged with charred flesh and fire in her hair, and from then on the flames bent to her will. When the city was completed, vampires from all over Nosgoth found solace and refuge there. One day, new wings came. Hundreds of winged vampires that had come from overseas, their wings like leathery sails spread over the lenght of graceful fingers, looking for shelter. She accepted to keep them beneath her wings, at one condition: they had to shed the banner of their previous Lord, and wear her own upon their very skin. Their leader accepted to bear the mark in all his own's stead and now they live in the city with her court, warriors and ruthless killers ready to defend their Mistress. Instead of warring for sustenance, our Lady then chose to offer the towns nearby a deal. She would ensure them wealth, riches, food and whatever they could possibly need, in return for the blood, freely donated, that her court needed. Hence, here we are.»  
Curiosity now awakened, Raziel asked Rohan to tell him more about the vampires with wings of leather. The young priest complied with a happy smile.  
«No one knows much about them, actually. They just... arrived, from one day to another, esotic, beautiful and very, very powerful. Most were warriors, they knew how to fight and they did so well. Our Lady knew she'd need such power if she were to become the most influent of Nosgoth's vampires -more powerful than even the ancient Vorador-, and so she took them in. They've been living in the city ever since.»  
«You never told me the citadel's name. Nor your Lady's. Why is that?»  
«Oh! That. We tend not to use the name of the city or that of our Lady when we're outside the Labyrinth. It's an old superstition, and nothing that was ever really proved, but... there is a saying. _They come when called_ , our mothers used to say, and to call their names for no reason is to bring misfortune to your whole family.»  
Raziel snorted in disbelief. Rohan looked at him apologetically, but didn't offer to tell him either name. The wraith wouldn't be who he was, though, if he'd ever pulled back once given the chance to push. He looked at the human expectantly.  
«Our Lady's name is Nerissa Graves, meaning 'from the sea'. Her citadel bears the name of Scarborough, dubbed the Fair due to the beautiful buildings beyond the walls -and so it is commonly referred to as Scarborough Fair.»  
«There was a ballad about a town with such a name» Raziel said for no reason, and Rohan smiled, nodding.  
«Yes. It was composed by one of the vampires that live there. He sang it for his dead lover, killed by hunters many eons ago. This is why the 'true love of mine' the song is about asks him to perform impossible tasks.»  
«A symbol of death. The impossibility of reunion.»  
«Yes, my Lord.»  
The kid was peaceful when he said that, lost somewhere in the romantic haze this kind of stories never failed to create. Raziel couldn't really blame him. He himself liked that ballad immensely, if just for the melody.  
As if on cue, Rohan began humming the ancient tune in the back of his throat, his quiet tone distracting Raziel long enough that he didn't notice when his focus shifted from the priest to the landscape around them.

. . .

Authoress' note:  
Thank you for every note/comment/kudos you've left here! I love you all soooo much!  
I do not own in any shape or form the characters featured in this story -this also applies to the story's image cover and to the quotes at the beginning of each chapter. I only own my OCs and the story's plot.  
Comments please!  
Have a nice day/night and love Legacy of Kain!


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

 _Grief changes shape,  
But it never ends._

 _. . ._

Raziel was jostled out of his light rest when the chariot came to a rather brusque halt. His eyes snapped open and in mere moments he switched from doze to complete wakefulness, body strung tight and ready to battle. He took a single moment to berate himself for his lack of prudence; he should have never allowed himself to lower his guard like that. Rohan had stopped the chariot in the middle of the forest, not far from the path they'd been following for the past seven hours. The wraith could see it, white among the greens and browns of the trees. The soft moonlight cast pale light over them, making Raziel's skin gow unhealthily.  
«Well?» he snapped, though there was no real bite behind his words. Rohan was way too naïve to try anything funny. Of course he could also be faking everything and be the most skilled vampire hunter Raziel had ever met, but the once-vampire couldn't help but snort a laugh at the thought.  
Rohan smiled apologetically, embarrassed. «I am only human, my Lord. It's been hours.»  
Right. Human. That meant he'd get tired even if he'd been _sitting_ _all day_.  
 _Was I really this_ weak _when I was mortal?!  
Yes, _said a voice in his head, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Kain's. _We've all been human at some point. Sorry if that's a disappointment.  
_ «Go to hell, kid» he muttered, jumping down from the chariot. He heard Rohan sigh, but read more relief than anything else in it.  
He let the boy wander around in search of dry branches to make a bonfire. He watched as Rohan set up camp and took out his food and several leather canteens. He offered Raziel one.  
The wraith took it in his taloned hands and opened it. The sweet scent of freshly spilled blood filled his nose even through the rough fabric of his cowl. It awoke no hunger in him and he stared wistfully at the canteen, his gaze not lost upon the young human. Rohan wasn't able to rein his curiosity in anymore, apparently, because after a moment he quietly inquired about his tattered appearance.  
«Water. And mind your own business» Raziel lied curtly, making Rohan shrug as he bit into a strip of dried meat.  
«Can't blame a man for being curious, my Lord. Your appearance is... unusual, to say the least. Your blue skin and ruined wings made me wonder.»  
Raziel hissed at him, pulling the cowl down to bare his remaining teeth. Rohan seemed impressively unfazed, frustrating the wraith even further.  
«In a good way, my Lord. Blue skin and wings are uncommon. I wondered whether you were a fallen Ancient.»  
«No, I am not» the wraith replied tersely. «Now, if you don't mind, I'd like for you to keep your questions to yourself. I'm not interested in mindless chit-chat.»  
Rohan acknowledged his words with a nod of his head and focused his attention on his meal again. Satisfied, Raziel turned his head towards the sky, not bothering to cover up with the cowl again. Let the boy look, if he so wished, and take in what monster Raziel had become -and what that monster was capable of doing to him.  
Let the boy look, and gaze into the bottomless pit that, he'd decided, would devour his soul when this was all over.

There seemed to be no moment of transition when Nerissa Graves woke. One moment she was asleep, looking almost dead bathed in moonlight, and the next she was perfectly awake, large green eyes open and aware, calculating and stone-cold despite the flames she coated herself in.  
A dead body was breathing softly next to hers. They were not Azrael, because his scent was different -more calm and wisdom than what she liked in a bed warmer. This scent was metal and wine and freshly spilled blood, and it was just another meaningless face in a stupid sea of worthless creatures. Nerissa was suddenly seized with the furious, mindless desire of grabbing that body and smash its face against a wall, again and again and again until it was nothing but pulp beneath her hands, her fingers gloved in sticky red that dripped on the floor for the servants to clean. The urge was something fierce and feral, something that bit and scratched and howled, and that was the reason why she chose not to satisfy it. She didn't trust sudden bursts of too-strong feelings. They clouded her judgement too much for her tastes.  
Almost eerily slow, she rose from the bed. Her enormous wings dragged behind her, ghosts on her dark blue figure that clothed her in white. She walked on bare feet to the spacious balcony that opens on the farthest wall of the room, a mirror to the one Janos had centuries ago. This one had been built at such an angle that she could observe the whole of Scarborough Fair just by standing in its middle.  
The city was a dark mass of shapeless buildings, crawling with flaming lights and sparkles of metal. Most of its inhabitants were sound asleep in their beds, her guards patrolling on the large wall separating them from the rest of Nosgoth. Children and women and men, both old and young, warriors and smiths and farmers and whatever they were, all enclosed beneath the burning invisible barrier of the Dome.  
Her eyes, which had inspired many a poet, observed it all with the cold detachment that's become the only emotion she ever showed. She absently wondered how it would feel if she were now to set the whole city on fire. How would she feel as she smelt the smoke, the flames, the stench of charred flesh and pain? How would she feel, knowing those screams belonged to vampires that called her their Queen?  
A pang of regret. A hint of sadness, perhaps. But mostly relief and completion, because slaughtering them all had been the plan all along.  
Not yet, though.  
Nerissa smiled softly.  
She turned away from the beauty of the starry sky. It was a beauty she could not put into words, a beauty so great that it became incomprehensible and unspeakable. The moon casted shadows and pale lights on her dark, firm flesh as she dressed and silently left the room.  
She nodded her head to the vampires standing guard in front of her doors. They nodded back in silence and she walked on, down the empty stone corridors of the enormous castle. It had high ceilings, high enough that she could take flight and twirl and dance gracefully in the air for hours without ever touching them. The glow of the few lit torches was dim, warm and inviting like the flames of a fireplace in a cozy home during a cold winter night.  
The fire brought her a joy she rarely experienced these days. It filled her heart with its scalding heat, swallowing it whole, infecting her blood and coursing through her veins, pulsing behind her eyes. It made her chest feel as if it was about to beat again, alive and warm like the life she'd had millenia ago.  
When the open night air greeted her dead lungs, she drew in an unnecessary sigh. A faint breeze caressed her face.  
Unsurprisingly, Azrael was up too. He was standing at the foot of the flight of stairs that led to the entrance of the castle, speaking softly with another vampiric guard, a woman she recognized but could remember the name of. Nerissa knew she was the one who built the city's very first cut-heads machine, providing it with stronger, sturdier blades so as to effortlessly cut the neck of both vampires and humans. When submitting Nerissa the projects, she'd been alive with a savage glee the Ancient had rarely seen, and in that moment Nerissa had understood she was the executioner.  
Nerissa glided down the stairs soundlessly, letting them finish their conversation as she kept staring at the peaceful stars. The night made no sounds apart that of the crickets, who sang ceaselessly in the background as if to make music in lieu of the instruments that are now asleep. Nerissa laced her hands behind her back, smiling imperceptibly up at the sky.  
Azrael joined her after a while.  
«Couldn't sleep, my Lady?»  
Nerissa's smile widened a hair and she turned at her lieutenant. He was beautiful and mysterious in the moonlight, which gave his pale cheekbones an opalescent glow and his hair a dark blue hue. His golden eyes were like candles in the night, sunk in his ageless, angular face, both beckoning and terrifying.  
«Something like that, yes» she answered quietly, as if wary of disturbing the peace of this moment. «Is this your watch, Azrael?»  
The other vampire smiled, leaning on the large helberd he was carrying. «My Lady, I wouldn't be a lieutenant if I ever slept.»  
Nerissa laughed softly at him, grin glinting white in her dark face. «Walk with me, will you?»  
Azrael complied with a nod. His steps were light despite the large talons on his feet, which were significantly different from her own. He had no flesh on his feet, only the hard tissue of chitinous claw. Nerissa had honestly no idea how he manages to walk on them, but she refrained from asking.  
They walked in silence for a while, climbing the stairs that led on the high, thick walls surrounding Scarborough Fair. From up there they could see the Labyrinth, its walls dark in the pools of moonlight that had formed among the eerie corridors. The Seven were howling in the distance, lost somewhere in the middle of the maze, their voices echoing in the night. Nerissa smiled fondly.  
«The make wondrous music, don't they?» she asked softly. Azrael said nothing and she turned to look at him. «I can hear you thinking, young one.»  
Azrael shifted beside her, eyes trained on the walls of the Labyrinth. His shapely black mouth tightened in a thin line, his jaw setting. Nerissa smiled a bit at his well-concealed discomfort.  
«What is that you wish of me, my Lady?»  
Nerissa hummed and one of the Seven howled in response. She could hear their panting, their scratching, their growling. One of them was probably directly beneath the two vampires, whimpering and barking as it dug and scratched against the wall.  
«Something's about to happen» she said, her tone falsely light. «I heard from Vorador a few days ago. He spoke of a demon-like blue creature who asked him about the Reaver. Vorador gave them no answer.»  
«You believe they're coming here.»  
«Mmh-hmm. It'd be the next logical step, wouldn't it?»  
«Indeed it would be, my Lady. You need not fear for your safety.»  
«Oh, I am not worried about myself. I am more concerned about you and your people, actually.»  
At that, Azrael turned towards her. His body was strung tight, Nerissa noticed with coldness and simmering malicious glee. She could almost hear his thoughts, fighting to keep him calm while at the same time being wrecked by fear.  
«And why is that, my Lady?»  
His voice was impressively calm. Nerissa appreciated that. It showed all of his skill at thinking, turning matters over and over in his head until he's solved them. People painted him as her cruel sword, her right-hand man, when in truth he was the calm and pensive word that stayed her hand when it was about to strike.  
Even so...  
«You're going soft, Azrael.»  
There. _Secret's out_ , she thought. Azrael stiffened imperceptibly, eyes searching her face wih an unreadable expression. He said nothing, but then again, Nerissa wasn't expecting an answer.  
«It began with that child, right? Of course it did. The child I killed a year ago. You've been staring at me with new eyes since that kid. You've been afraid of me ever since.»  
Slowly, she prowled around the younger vampire, her movements as fluid as a hunting feline's. Azrael didn't move and didn't attempt to turn around when she got behind him. He was tense, strung tight with the need to face who he perceived as a threat, but to his credit didn't act on the urge. Nerissa smiled, unseen.  
Her hand on the back of his neck came as a surprise to Azrael. He restrained a brusque intake of breath, exhaling slowly through his nose as the hand touched lower. It was a slow caress that caught on the collar of his coat, pulling it down.  
The breeze kissed the burn scar with cool lips.  
«Remember who you belong to» Nerissa murmured, tracing the mark with a taloned fingertip. It followed the contours of the pale flame that was forever etched in his otherwise tanned skin.  
Azrael lowered his head, giving the cool hand more room to explore. Nerissa's touch was gentle, even though Azrael knew it could turn scalding hot in mere seconds.  
«I pledged my immortal fidelity to you, my Lady» he said, and he was sincere. «And with that, my whole's clan's. We will fight for you down to the last man, to our last breath. You own our lives as our ancient Lord did.»  
Nerissa hummed again. She had to be satisfied with his answer, though, because the hand retreats with one last rub on the scar.  
«Good» she said simply. She clasped her hands behind her back once more and looked serenely out at the Labyrinth. Azrael breathed again and imitated her, but his gaze was worried as it touched the dark ominous walls.  
«How long have you been with me, Azrael? One, two hundred years now?»  
«More than three centuries, my Lady.»  
«Hmmm...»  
Nerissa sighed and gently wrapped her white wings around her slim figure.  
«You are the most loyal vampire I know, and the one I trust the most» she began. «I might not show it often, but it's true. You proved your loyalty more than once, over and over, so I think you deserve to know...»  
It is strange, how nasty times are difficult to recognize. Azrael sure didn't recognize his, nor had he any idea of just how nasty his times were going to get. He had no idea that he was going to end up crushed and broken and smashed up, but he sure felt something was not right.  
«Our time's over» Nerissa said very softly, young and serene in the moonlight.

. . .

Authoress' note:  
Thank you to Nintendoman01 for favouring and following Legacy of Sorrow! Love you!  
This is more of a filler chapter, I'm still figuring out where I want to go with this. Please bear with me! Also, if you wanna chat, I now have Kik: you can find me at Nox_Arkana :)  
I do not own in any shape or form the characters featured in this story -this also applies to the story's image cover and to the quotes at the beginning of each chapter. I only own my OCs and the story's plot.  
Comments please!  
Have a nice day/night and love Legacy of Kain!


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

 _Over and done  
A changing of seasons  
The sun that ignited out feelings is down_

. . .

Three. Days.  
 _Three bloody days_.  
Raziel couldn't believe they were _still travelling_.  
In the back of his mind, he knew they were going towards the mountains, that three days wasn't a long time at all to cover the distance they'd already covered. Rohan had agreed to give Raziel the reins at night, so that they could keep going even as he slept, and even though the wraith had had to stop to let the horses rest, they'd been making exceptional progress.  
That didn't mean Raziel couldn't fume in his own head.  
«I assure you, my Lord, that we'll reach Scarborough Fair before the end of the week.»  
The human was so bloody annoying.  
And Raziel was hungry.  
He'd become good at ignoring that gnawing feeling at the mouth of an organ he didn't have anymore. He always went without feeding for as long as he could -not out of any kindness of his heart, but because the idea of nourishing the slimy squid that ruled the Underworld sickened him. He couldn't actually starve the thing, but he could give it a damned hard time, and by Janos Audron's still-beating heart, he _would_.  
Janos Audron, yes. The vampire who somehow seemed to be tied to Nosgoth and Raziel more tightly than Kain ever would be, even as he lay dead in Vorador's candle-lit crypt. The one who'd apparently had a spouse, a woman who hadn't been there when Janos had been killed. Had she left him alone in his guardianship, he wondered, leaving him to die alone and forgotten at the hands of the Sarafan? Had she left after his death? And most importantly, what was her role in unveiling and rewriting Raziel's destiny, if she even had one?  
And ignoring that hunger wasn't making it go away, was it? Poor Raziel, disillusioned and naïve, more fledgling now than he'd ever been-  
«Are there no settlements between your town and Scarborough Fair?»  
Rohan shrugged, the sound of the chariot's wooden wheels trembling behind them. Dark clouds were gathering at the line of the horizon, bringing sickening light and smell of ozone. The wind seemed alive with it and screamed in the branches and leaves of the trees.  
«Not on the main road, my Lord, no. It is way too travelled by Moebius' soldiers for people to feel comfortable living near it. The closest is about a day off the road and into the forests.»  
Frustrated, Raziel looked up at the darkening sky. He could smell the scent of the storm. It made a strange clenching feeling grow in his hollow chest. Rohan followed his gaze and Raziel saw sudden realization dawn on his face.  
«The rain» he breathed. Raziel arched a blue eyebrow at him, wondering just what had popped into the human's head this time, until he remembered that the young man still believed him to be of vampiric nature: Rohan was convinced that the rain would melt his remaining flesh off his bones.  
«There is a place where we can find shelter» the human said. «It is... well, I am not really sure what it is. It is a half home, half shop not too far off the road. The woman who owns it is a merchant, she doesn't make any distinction between humans and vampires as long as she gets paid. She will accommodate us for the duration of the storm.»  
«Is she one of your Lady's... associates?»  
«I do not think so, sir. Ejite is a free woman. She never expressed any particular favour either towards Moebius nor towards Lady Graves. Her spouse is the coin and her children are her goods.»  
Raziel, unseen, rolled his eyes at the human's words. But he wasn't about to carelessly throw that opportunity away. A single soul in an otherwise deserted land was a rare occurrence. He had tested this body's limits before -he was never one to be caught unprepared- and he knew how long he could go without sustenance before the fragile flesh dissolved, plunging him into the cold blue-green Spectral Realm and its hallucinogenic distortions. Somehow, Raziel could never quite recall how the Underworld looked, but he knew its sounds by heart: the low raspy growls of the soul-eaters, their harsh breathing, their raucous panting, and the screams. Those screams that seemed to exude from the walls, desperate and half-mad, mirror to what he, too, would one day become if his destiny wasn't somehow altered. The screams were his greatest fear, his only weakness in a world that fed on those like a vampire from a bleeding wound. He wondered if those screams were at fault for the Elder God's madness -if the thought of hearing those desperate cries for eternity had driven him crazy. Had the squid even had another form before he'd become the Elder God? Had he been a vampire, Raziel wondered, or had he been human in nature? Or had he been a member of that other race, the enemies of the Ancients, and the banishment of his race had been the reason he now wanted all the vampires to disappear?  
But he was digressing. His thoughts were scattered.  
How long could he still go before he had to feed?  
When was the last time he'd eaten?  
Vorador's mansion, that was when, and that had been six days ago. He was pushing his limits, soon his blue flesh would begin to fall off his bones. That left him with two options, and Raziel already knew which he was going to take, because he needed the damn priest.  
The woman it was, then.  
«How long before we reach this woman's place?»  
Rohan lifted his head, momentarily taking his eyes off the road. He studied the position of the pale sun, worrying his bottom lip with yellowed teeth, then looked at Raziel once more. «At the pace we're going, I'd say still half a day. If we push the horses, three hours. We should be able to get there before the storm gets us, it still appears to be far away.»  
The wraith didn't need to consider Rohan's human's naivety regarding Raziel's nature was, unsurprisingly, incredibly useful. He wasn't going to waste it by letting him know that rain wouldn't do Raziel any harm.  
«Very well. Get moving then, human.»  
Rohan nodded at him and whipped the air with the reins, the sound making the horses trot faster with a neigh. The powerful hooves beat the ground with a dry confused noise, lifting a cloud of whitish dust behind them. They didn't break into a run, as that would have made them tire out way too soon, but the pace had nonetheless considerably quickened.  
«If I may, my Lord... are you of Lady Nerissa's own kind?»  
The wraith levelled him with a glare. He'd already been asked this question and he'd thought he'd made it clear it was his own business. Rohan's enthusiasm withered a little, but it didn't die out, and Raziel took a deep breath.  
Why he was bearing with this human was beyond him.  
«What do you mean, priest?»  
Rohan perked up again at that. For a moment, Raziel thought he looked like an excited, tiny dog pup. Pity that the wraith absolutely loathed dogs.  
«Well... your... wings, my Lord. I have never seen a vampire with wings apart from the Lady. Are you an Ancient like her?»  
Raziel couldn't help it.  
He laughed.  
It was a sick sound, unnatural and disturbing, deep and mocking. Him, an Ancient? What would this kid think, were he to know Raziel had killed the last one of them -and probably the one vampire in Nosgoth who wouldn't try to kill you on sight? Janos had been too pure for Nosgoth's broken land, and look at what that had earned him. Kindness got you killed and kind people were usually brainless cretins who got what they deserved, Raziel had always known that, but Janos... he hadn't deserved that. And now he was dead.  
«No, boy, I'm not an Ancient» he said once the broken laughter had died down. «These tattered remains and the cowl are all I've got left of my old life. My sire... the one who created me... ripped them from my back mere hours after I got them, beneath the gaze of my brethren.»  
Rohan winced, a grimace working its way on his face. He glanced once more at the blue rags of Raziel's wings.  
«What are you then, if not an Ancient?»  
What was he?  
A monster. A vampire. A soul-eater. The Elder God's angel of death. Kain's rebel pawn.  
«A broken creature with no future other than eternal imprisonement. A small insect fighting fruitlessly against his fate» Raziel said slowly. «A fate your Lady might be able to rewrite.»  
Rohan looked at him for another long moment, before finally taking his eyes off his tattered figure and focusing on the road once more. He was silent for a long time, enough that Raziel believed the well of his questions had finally dried up. And it had, in a way, only not in the way Raziel expected.  
«There was something my mother used to say» the priest said very softly after that long pause. «We know that there is no free will. After all, what difference do our little decisions make when there is always a more powerful person pulling the strings? And we can't cut them, we can't escape them, they'll be there forever until we die. But fate... fate does not exist, my Lord. Fate does not exist once we embrace our condition... once we lucidly accept it.»  
«Sounds like a contorted concept.»  
«Well, to be honest, when she first said these things, mother had long since lost her mind. I do think there is a teaching somewhere in her words, though.»  
«Even if there was, I do not see what difference it would make. Lucid acceptance or blind ignorance... what difference is there, if the result is the same?»  
Rohan looked at him again. «All the difference in the world, my Lord» he said gravelly.

Ejite did indeed welcome them in her little shop, and though she was a rather peculiar creature, Raziel's curiosity about humans had long since burnt out. He accepted her strange physique with a slight nod, a bit shocked that she let him in without questioning his own torn up appearance. He left the mindless chatter to Rohan, more interested in looking around the admittedly weird shop: particular objects and tomes were scattered around in some sort of careless tidiness, covering every available surface and even the floor. Plants and pots dangled from the low wooden ceiling, almost completely obscuring the light streaming in from the already small windows. Bottles and vials littered the shelves and a transparent glass sphere occupied the centre of the table.  
A fortune teller, then. Raziel didn't hold his scoff back.  
The woman looked at him disdainfully with her lone eye. The other was covered by a dark red eyepatch, which did nothing to hide the terrible burn that had consumed half her face. She followed his blank gaze to the sphere, then chuckled.  
«Ejite has no idea how to use that» she said with a deformed grin. «It's a smokescreen for those who like that sort of thing. Ejite sees not the future.»  
Raziel had as little respect for fortune tellers as he did for liars and tricksters. Had he had his jaw, his contempt would probably have shown. As it was, he simply arched an eyebrow and Ejite smiled at him, nasty and ugly.  
«Ejite has rooms if you have the coin» she said then, turning back towards Rohan. The young man nodded and began rummaging in he leather bag he carried with him at all times, from which he produced a small pouch.  
«How much?» he asked, and Ejite grinned.  
«Seventeen kronor».  
Raziel's eyebrows shot upwards. Rohan expressed what he was thinking without him needing to speak.  
« _That's a theft_! Seventeen kronor for two rooms?!»  
«Seventeen kronor for _one_ room» Ejite sing-songed. «Two is twenty-five. This is an isolated place, and Ejite has to eat somehow.»  
Rohan looked at Raziel again, a silent question in his eyes, and the wraith sighed. «Just take one room, boy. I'll probably _not sleep_ anyway.»  
Rohan grumbled under his breath, but handed Ejite the coins without protest. She took one and bit it, satisfied when it didn't bend, and took the rest with a smile on her deformed mouth. «Ejite will show you the room if you follow her».  
They did.

Hours later, it was the middle of the night and the storm was raging outside of the little shop.  
Raziel wasn't sleeping.  
He'd gotten used to it after a while. As a vampire, he'd needed the rest now and again, with some sort of regularity. After he'd been confined to this limbo of an existence, slumber tended to evade him. Mostly because, when he closed his eyes, all he could see were the cold hues of the Spectral Realm and the large watching eyes of the monster that ruled there. He had no particular wish to see those, and thus sleep came with difficulty.  
Rohan was sleeping peacefully on the floor, curled on the covers and pillows Raziel hadn't needed. The wraith moved in silence, quiet and slow like a snake in a field, clamping down on the urge to pierce the boy's chest with his talons and extract his screaming soul. He slipped out of their room and into the shadows, looking for the woman who'd welcomed them. The place was dark and smelled a little moldy despite being kept in excellent conditions, considering it was isolated in the wild. The floorboards creaked when Raziel stepped on them, but in the fierce howling of the wind and the battering of the rain on the roof and walls, the small mousy sound was lost. Ejite certainly didn't hear it, even if she, too, was awake. She only saw him when he quietly walked down the stairs, approaching the fluffy carpet she was sitting on as she cut flowers and leaves from one of the largest plants in the shop. She wasn't wearing her eyepatch. A large charred hole was left where her other eye had once been.  
«Ejite is armed» she chirped happily. «You cannot sleep?» she asked then, completely unbothered, adding leaves to the growing pile at her side. Raziel watched with some sort of fascination as she cut, the rythmic, precise snipping motions like a soft background lullaby. He never answered her question, but Ejite didn't seem to care.  
«These leaves are used to make a special brand of tea» she began, smiling that ugly smile of hers. «Ejite first lets them dry in the sun and once they're completely desiccated, she grounds them into powder. Mixed with tea leaves and other ingredients, they make for a powerful hallucinogen.»  
She gathered all of the leaves and flowers, standing up to walk to the small wooden table in the far corner of the room. She grabbed a rag and proceeded to carefully wrap them in dirty white fabric.  
«The plants that produce this kind of flowers are rare in this region of Nosgoth» Ejite said. « _Mademoiselle Noir_ in Scarborough Fair is fond of them. You will want to give these to her once you arrive, you might end up in her good graces.»  
«They might also be poisonous.»  
Ejite grinned at him. «They might, Ejite agrees.»  
She handed him the bundle of cloth. Raziel took it.  
«Why are you up, monster?»  
She used the term without malice, simply because she lacked a better word. Raziel didn't begrudge her, sensing the utter lack of ill intent.  
When had he begun to view humans as more than sentient cattle?  
He'd come here to kill her.  
«I do not require as much sleep as others» he said slowly. «It seemed stupid to lay in bed and stare at the ceiling.»  
Ejite hummed in agreement, studying him with her single eye. Raziel's gaze was inevitably attracted to the knotted scar on the other half of her face and the woman smiled, a bit sad.  
«Fire» she said, running her fingers down her ruined cheek. «Don't ever cross _Mademoiselle Noir_ , blue monster. See what happens to those who do.»  
Raziel burned with the desire to ask her what she'd done to deserve such a harsh punishment. He tilted his head to the side in silent question, but though Ejite understood what he was asking, she refused to give an answer.  
«The man who's leading me to Scarborough Fair knows little about its leader. Tell me more about her.»  
«Hmm. Ejite should charge for this service, but she finds she wishes to talk. You do look like an interesting enough mind. See, it is rather monotonous around here and Ejite craves tales from the outside. Deal?»  
«We have a deal» Raziel said, waiting for her to turn around. Ejite didn't. Human, but not stupid.  
It didn't matter. _Enough chit-chat_.  
She was expecting something, but not that fast and not that strong. She stabbed him in the head with that fucking silver dagger, but Raziel was quick -her head was in his grasp before she could utter a word. He twisted it sharply to the side, hearing it snap even as the wind outside howled. Ejite sagged in his arms as the light went out in that silly little head of hers, mouth falling open in a silent deathly scream.  
It was from her mouth that Raziel sucked her soul. It kicked and screeched and tasted acrid with surprise and shock and as Raziel absorbed it, it left him with a lingering sense of bitterness.  
He pulled the dagger from his head as he looked around the shop, finally finding thepotted plant under which she'd stashed her money. He counted seventeen golden coins, put the rest back under the colourful plant, and went back to the lifeless corpse on the floor. The bundle of cloth in which she'd wrapped the leaves and flowers had fallen on the floor, spilling its contents everywhere. Raziel pondered throwing everything into the fire, then, on a whim, collected them and stuck them into his ribcage for the moment.  
He brought the cadaver back upstairs and laid it on the late shop-keeper's bed, arranging it so that she looked as if she were sleeping, then went back to the room he shared with Rohan.  
This time, darkness came and swept him under.

The following morning, he woke before dawn and before Rohan. He shook the priest awake and together they made their way out of the shop and back to their small wagon.  
Well-rested and nicely fed, the horses looked eager to get moving once more, and Rohan gladly took the reins. He still hadn't said a word, eyeing Raziel warily, as if sensing that something was amiss.  
It wasn't until many hours later that he spoke.

«What happened to Ejite?» he whispered.  
In lieu of an answer, Raziel pulled out the seventeen coins and placed them in the priest's trembling hand.  
The rest of the journey was made in silence, until, at last, they made one last turn and saw how the mountains split in a dark valley.  
As a Sarafan first, and a son of Kain later, Raziel had seen a great many things, even if he didn't remember all of them in detail. He'd seen his Clan rise from dirt to unbelievable heights, had fought countless battles for his Lord and Sire, had looked the Reaper in the face and had danced with him in the world of the undead.  
But he'd never seen anything like this.  
Nothing like this desolate land whose only feature was that dark, ominous labyrinth, battered by the winds as thunder roared in the distance. And at the centre of that neverending maze, pulsing like Janos' heart had pulsed in his last moments of life, lay the nest of the fire Raziel had been looking for. Throbbing like an open wound, Scarborough Fair awaited, its core burning with a hatred born from smouldering coals and grown into heaving, infernal flames.

. . .

Authoress' note:  
WHEW! Finally done, and it was a PAIN. It's horrible, I know, but what can you do? I did my best.  
I do not own in any shape or form the characters featured in this story -this also applies to the story's image cover and to the quotes at the beginning of each chapter. I only own my OCs and the story's plot.  
Comments please!  
Have a nice day/night and love Legacy of Kain!


End file.
